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she said—"that we love each other. Whatever it is, that's
not the word,"

" Love, it's not anything/' he replied; " not when it's not a
part of something else."

" I couldn't say I love anything. Not now. I'm just cold
inside." Then she sat up straight, and exclaimed suddenly:
" Cold. I've always been cold. That's it, cold. That's why
I did what I did, came to you. I was cold; I thought you'd
warm me. That's the way about those others. There was
something made me think they weren't cold inside; they were
warm, I thought. Even Olivers., what he could do with
horses. And you-----"

"And me-----" he repeated, not questioningly, but in a

slow dubiety.

" You, you, I thought—I must have felt "—her words came
rushingly, no longer in whisper—"I thought you must be
warm, after what you'd done, after that." Her voice sank, all
at once, to a whisper. " To do that you'd have to be warm,
have to feel about something. To kill a man."

"You knew"—he said distantly—"about Trevelyan?"

" Benton told me. I got it out of him. That's why I came
to you, to warm me. But you-----"

"Yes?" he asked.

"You are cold, too. Whatever you did, you were cold.
Like me, inside. Whatever you did, even this man at the
trial, this Turpin-----"

"Turpin!" he exclaimed, stiffening, almost rising. " Tur-
pin 1 I didn't do it, I didn't-----"

But her voice was going on: " Whatever you did, you did
because you were cold, because you wanted to be warm."

He sank back, slowly relaxing again,

" Because you wanted to be warm," she said, " because you
wanted to get through to something to make you warm.
Because you were cold-----"

" I did what I did," he returned.

" You wanted to be warm. Like some other people. like
my father was. He was, he had it inside hiinself. That's